


By Any Other Name

by Arya_Greenleaf



Series: Would Smell As Sweet [2]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Dates, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Rimming, Sleepy Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-03 02:26:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10233629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arya_Greenleaf/pseuds/Arya_Greenleaf
Summary: Aqueduct and Kleenex meet on more civilized, less lubricated terms. Kyle is terrible at dates--or is he? Perhaps Armchair just needs to live a little.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I had far too much fun thinking of things other than "Armitage" and "Kylo" to have these two call each other and, well, I thought of a few more.

Armitage checks the address that Kylo had texted him against what he’d thumbed into his GPS for the fourth time, refusing to believe he is correct.

_“I just thought that perhaps… perhaps you’d like to meet. As in—as in actually meet. A proper introduction. Not just a fuck in the loo and getting, well, very drunk.”_

_“You sure about that?”_

_“Yes, of course I’m sure I wouldn’t be calling you if I wasn’t sure.” He knew he sounded snippy—Kylo was just as obnoxious as he remembered. Maybe more. Perhaps his hangover had dulled his perception of how the night had gone—how much fun he’d had in spite of himself._

_“You ignored my calls for a month, Ampersand. I was beginning to think you didn’t like me.”_

_“Any other person would have given up after the first three days… any other person would have reported you to the authorities, frankly. I suppose I’m being utterly unreasonable about this but—“_

_Kylo laughed, deep and off-key and utterly endearing. Armitage hated him for it for a fraction of a second. “No, no, don’t try to talk yourself out of it.”_

_“I’m not!”_

_“When do you want to meet?”_

_“I thought Saturday, maybe? I mean—“ Armitage ran his hand through his hair and scrubbed his palm over his face, feeling foolish. “If you’ve got other plans, don’t interrupt them for me. I know you—I know—Saturday, yes? Do you want to see me for—for coffee? Dinner. Nourishment of some kind.”_

_“Dinner sounds good. Do you have a place in mind?”_

_“No. I—“ He’d called on a whim, the most spontaneous thing he’d done since… well, since he’d fucked a man who called himself Kylo Ren in a semi-run-down, sort-of public bathroom. “I didn’t. I’m sure you have your weekend planned already. We can make arrangements for another time. I’ll call you next week if—“_

_“Would you shut up a minute?” There was that laugh again. “Saturday sounds great—won’t bother any plans I’ve already got. It’ll… it’ll be nice to see you again. I had a lot of fun last time.”_

_“Yes, well—see you then.”_

_Kylo texted him later that afternoon with an address, a hope that it wasn’t too far away for Armitage to get to comfortably, an insistence that the food would be worth the distance, and an assurance that Kylo wanted to see him again. Why would he have made a total ass of himself with all of those calls if he didn’t, he asked?_

Armitage shook his head, incredulous. Why he’d expected anything classier from the brute with the pierced nipples and a pocket full of lube he’d never be able to figure out, he’s sure.

All the same, he can see Kylo’s distinctive outline—the broad shoulders and tapered waist—in the bright fluorescent lights of the laundromat. His stomach flutters, full of butterflies.

Kylo probably planned a dinner of convenience store microwave burritos while they sit atop the folding counter like a couple of edgy teenagers in a lame coming of age movie. Perhaps they’d confess their undying love in spite of their family conflicts or something. Then they’d have a tender kiss in the harsh light, reflected in the glass door of the dryer while the towels spun, Slurpee-stained lips and cherry flavored tongues just barely daring to touch.

Armitage pushes through the door, setting the little bell over it to ringing. The attendant looks up, vaguely curious, and then returns their attention to their book. He clears his throat and smooths the front of his waistcoat, folds his arms. “Cashew.”

Kylo is dressed in the most preposterous manner possible. There is a grey sweater with a tight ribbed pattern stretched across his shoulders and chest. It dips into a _V_ at the front and is just long enough to cover his backside. Red plaid leggings strain against his thighs and calves. They look fleecy, impossibly soft. He’s got the most ridiculous pair of suede ankle boots on, the tops of them flopped over unevenly like some kind of quasi-fashionable pirate.

It’s ludicrous.

It’s utterly inappropriate.

He straightens up, his spine rolling fluidly from where he is bent over a plastic tote bag full of clothes. He pitches a pair of jeans into the drum of the washer and grins. “Amphitheater! You made it. I was beginning to wonder if you got lost.”

“You’re a bit underdressed for a date, I think.” Armitage bites the inside of his cheek in attempt to distract himself from the Pavlovian arousal that Kylo’s voice provoked.

“This is what I wear on laundry night—when it’s chilly, at least.” Armitage’s cheeks grow warm and he curses his fair complexion. “Saturdays, when I’m not playing a show, are for laundry.”

“I didn’t drive all the way out to _New Jersey_ to watch you wash your used drawers, Crayola.”

Kylo smirks, a low breathy laugh making his chest bounce. “You did say I shouldn’t let you interrupt any of my plans.”

Armitage purses his lips and turns back toward the door. “I’ll send you a PayPal invoice—for the tolls. It’s twelve-fifty for the tunnel during peak hours, you know.” He yanks the door open and begins to step outside, stopped by a hand wrapping around his bicep. “I should have known this would be a waste of time.”

“Wait! Really, wait.”

“Why?”

“Across the street—the diner? That was the address I gave you, you know. You pulled in on the wrong side. One plate of disco fries before you skulk back to the city, please?”

He looks too earnest for someone so… _so_. “A plate of _what_?”

“Disco fries.”

“What the kriff is a disco fry?”

Kylo’s mouth drops open slightly and then he grins again, predatory. “You’ve never had them.”

“Obviously not.”

“Alright then. Fries and shakes, how about that?” He looks Armitage up and down. “Strawberry, I bet.”

Armitage clenches his jaw and shrugs Kylo’s hand off. “Vanilla.” Of course it was strawberry. He’ll never let Kylo have the satisfaction of being correct so easily though.

Won’t have him thinking he can read Armitage’s mind so casually.

“Aw, that’s disappointing. Thought for sure you’d be a little more exciting than that.” He steps back, hands up in mock surrender. “Just let me throw this in the washer and we can walk over, okay?”

Armitage sighs and relents. “Fine. Get on with it, then.”

He follows Kylo back inside and leans back against the folding counter to watch Kylo finish loading his laundry into the washers. He registers vaguely that there seems to be some kind of system happening—one that no doubt costs him more than what’s really reasonable for a week’s washing for a single person, even if it doesn’t quite look like just one week… or a single person.

Jeans and miscellaneous pants get dumped together.

Nicer slacks separate.

Then go a pile of cotton shirts and hoodies.

Then less casual shirting and knits.

Towels and undergarments and socks are treated with far less care, all tangled together in a ball and shoved forcefully into the front loader so that the drum bounces and rocks.

The entire ritual seems overly meticulous. Armitage certainly has his share of _dos_ and _don’ts_ regarding his washing but certainly the number of machines Kylo is using can be reduced by at least two—

“Mm?”

“You look like you’re in another galaxy.”

“What? Oh. Sorry. I was just thinking about how much water and money you’re wasting.” And how not all of the clothing going into the machines appeared to belong to Kylo. Surely, sever of those pants looked far too short.

Kylo narrows his eyes and purses his lips, “You do your wash your own way.” He shoves the big crinkly plastic coated totes he’d taken the clothes out of into one another and folds them up. It seems as if he’s being purposefully loud about it. Armitage grimaces. Finally, satisfied with the large, lumpy square he puts it on top of one of his machines and plunks his jug of detergent down to keep it there. Kylo approaches the attendant and makes some kind of swift negotiation before coming back to where Armitage is waiting and offering his arm. “How about those shakes?”

Armitage declines the arm by way of a scowl. He’d like to take it, just to feel his hand around the meat of Kylo’s bicep under that sweater. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans instead, “Are we meant to choke down our meal in forty-five minutes or less?” He jerks his chin toward the timer on the washers and raises a brow.

Kylo’s lips turn up on one side and he holds the door open for Armitage to pass through. “No, they’re gonna switch it for me. Got ‘till closing if you want it.”

He sounds hopeful. Armitage’s heart hammers a little harder in his chest.

Kylo actually looks both ways before leading Armitage across the street. He slinks up the stairs and holds open the glass door, presenting the threshold like he was offering a seat in a giant glass pumpkin. He waves at the waiter and snags two menus off of the register, making his own way through the maze of tables and chairs to an unoccupied booth near the back.

He appears to be a regular.

Or just that arrogant.

Armitage’s money is on arrogant.

Kylo slips into the booth and looks meaningfully at the empty side until Armitage sits as well.

“I thought we were having French fries and milkshakes.”

“Well, I figured you’d want a choice in the matter. Everything’s good, by the way.”

Armitage glances through the menu and decides that he doesn’t want to be watched while eating any of it, no matter how appetizing the Chicken Marsala or Spanakopita looks in the pictures. Fries seem safe. Finger food. One at a time. He settles a haughty look on his face and closes the menu. “No, we’ll do it your way. I’m up for a little adventure.”

Kylo licks his lips and closes his menu as well, eyes sparkling as the light hanging between them sways gently with a blast of heat from the vent above. “Alright then.”

“Ready?” the waiter asks when he approaches.

“Two orders of disco fries. Two strawberry shakes.” He squints like he _knows_ Armitage lied and passes the menus into the waiter’s hands. He looks up at the young man and give him a genuine smile, “Thanks.”

“Coming right up.”

They sit in silence for a few moments. Glasses of water overflowing with ice appear at the edge of the table with a stack of extra napkins as if by magic. Kylo stretches and settles with his cheek propped against his fist, a vaguely content look on his face.

“You—you look different.”

“Do I?”

“Yes,” Armitage unbuttons the top button of his shirt. He then pops open the buttons of his cuffs and begins the process of rolling his sleeves to his elbows. Anything to distract from the blush he can feel prickling at the tops of his ears. “Without all that stuff on your face.”

Kylo snorts and Armitage rolls his eyes, catching the lewd humor immediately.

“So you don’t always go ‘round in winged eyeliner and powdered up like a raccoon?”

Kylo takes a sip from the glass closest to him and then sets it off to the side. “No. That’s just for shows. You look different too.”

“How so?”

“Less sweaty.”

“What an astute observation.” They sit in less than comfortable silence for several minutes. Armitage busies himself with the little container of sugars, lining up each package inside so that it faces the same direction. “Cryptkeeper, you don’t fucking exist.”

Kylo laughs. He pats his face and runs his hands over his chest and arms. “I’m pretty sure I exist, Armadillo.”

“No, you don’t. I looked for you. Googled. Searched. Whatever. You’ve got Facebook page that hasn’t been updated in two years for what looks like _may_ have been your band before you managed to snag a manager and an overly active Instagram account for the current iteration.” He pauses, taking a breath. “And YouTube. I guess. Have you people ever thought of possibly increasing the production value of your music videos, because they’re truly—“

Kylo’s brow arches high. “I think you should stop right there.”

“—I—I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.” Armitage feels his cheeks burn red and he gulps from his glass of water. He wishes against everything else that he could just _stop blushing_. It was unbecoming.

“I get it. You don’t like my music.” Kylo leans back into the booth and purses his lips, looking down at his hands in his lap. “I didn’t really ask your opinion on it, though. And you certainly seemed to be enjoying yourself enough listening to it when we met.”

“I—I’m screwing this up completely.”

“You know, you kept calling me an arrogant asshole that night, but that’s kind of exactly what _you_ are, Armpit.”

Armitage scowls. “Fair enough.” They both sip from their glasses. Armitage wonders where their waiter has disappeared to. “It doesn’t change the fact that _Kylo Ren_ doesn’t exist, though. Ben Solo—his is the number that keeps drowning out anything else in my call history. He definitely exists.” Kylo leans forward a bit as if suddenly very interested. “His LinkedIn is mildly interesting. A degree in education—used to teach high school, the classics I think it was? Stopped that a few years ago, now has what looks like a private tutoring business. He’s got a semi-active social media presence, at least what I could tell. Most of it’s set to _private_. Which struck me as somewhat odd initially but I suppose an educator should keep his personal life out of the hands of his students. Then I started clicking on news articles—I was confused at first, of course, because there was some disparity in the names _again_.”

“And?”

“You’re Leia _kriffing_ Organa’s son. You’re not _Kylo Ren_. You’re Ben _Organa_.”

“Well, technically, Ben Organa-Solo if we’re going to be nitpicky about it. They did hyphenate on my birth-cert. I use _Solo_ to try and keep the press out of my hair but it’s not like that’s a huge secret either. My mother’s not exactly an under-the-radar kind of person.”

“I should think not. She’s the goddamned—“ Armitage dropped his voice to a near whisper. “Secretary of _State_.”

“Ar—“

“Did you ever plan on telling me?”

“When should I have divulged my life story, hmm? Before or after you had your fingers up my ass?” Kylo clears his throat and the waiter approaches the booth. They set two tall glasses down, partially overflowing with smooth, pink milkshake and then tall steel cups covered in frost containing whatever wouldn’t fit in the glasses. Kylo thanks the waiter and then sucks hard on his straw, draining the glass to just below the brim to stop the spilling. “Is that why you finally returned my calls? Because of who my mom is?”

“No! No. That’s… that’s actually one of the reasons I’d planned on blocking your number and not looking back.”

“What are you a conservative or something?”

“I—no—not—“ Armitage makes a frustrated sound and glares at Kylo while he sips from his own shake. “It sort of, I don’t know. Made you real? Made what I did real? Frighteningly real. And confusing. What the hell is the only child of the woman who’s third in line for the presidency doing in a band and fucking strangers in a bathroom?”

“Fourth.”

“What?”

Kylo pulls the long spoon out of his shake and runs it across his tongue before dropping it into one of the steel cups. “She’s fourth in line. Veep, Speaker, President pro tempore of the Senate, then mom. Fourth.”

“What then, does that make you seventh or something?”

“Sixteenth. Behind the Secretary of Homeland Security, but only if the Attorney General doesn’t have any third cousins.” Armitage gaped for a moment. “I’m kidding.”

“I knew that.”

Kylo grins and takes another sip, grimacing for a moment over what’s obviously a bit of brain freeze. “Sure you did. Shake good?”

Armitage nods and takes another sip, stopping short when the waiter appears again, a plate in either hand. Steam wafts up around their faces after the plates are set down, comfortingly savory smells filling the air. “What the fuck is this?”

Kylo laughs, “Disco fries.”

“What is _on_ them?”

“Brown gravy, mozzarella cheese.” Armitage hovers, his hands fluttering over the table in confusion. “You are allowed to use a fork, you know.” Kylo picks his up and attacks his plate with gusto.

Armitage stabs at a fry, the cheese stretching and snapping, and pops it into his mouth with caution. He has visions of spots of gravy over his collar, hot cheese slapping him on the chin. “It’s good,” he says around the bite, trying to hide the fact that he’s burned the roof of his mouth.

They eat quietly for a few moments until Kylo breaks the silence again. “It’s a mask.”

“What’s a mask?”

“The makeup. A way to not be myself for a little while. Just make music and feel things and let loose for a few minutes. Hide myself so I can be free.” He shrugs and shoves a lump of French fry and cheese into his mouth as if to shut himself up.

“Mom’s always been in politics,” he says with a full mouth and continues as he chews and swallows. “Dad managed to keep out of the spotlight for the most part—still trying to figure out how he did that aside from just not being around, in general—but the press just… they were relentless. Always had something nasty to say. When I was really young it was questioning my parents’ abilities to parent me because I carried a stuffed animal everywhere and didn’t speak. Then I was a brat because I talked too much and made faces at the paparazzi. Then I hit puberty and it was like open season. Fuck, that was rough. College was better—grew my hair out and pierced my eyebrow and got this,” he holds up his hand, the back facing Armitage, to show the tattoo across his fingers.

“Mom had taken a little bit of a break at that point, was focusing more on her charitable foundations, so people weren’t as interested in the family. They sort of forgot about me for a little bit.”

“If people forgot about you then why do you still need a mask?”

Kylo shrugs. He sips his shake and then blanches. “Shit, that was too much, wasn’t it?”

Armitage snickers, “No, it’s fine. Seems like the life story comes after fingers up the ass after all. So, why teaching?”

“My uncle did it—he was a professor for years. Taught a class on justice and philosophy. Kant, Singer, all that stuff. I liked the idea of helping someone figure out the way they saw the world.”

“Why’d you stop? Formally, I mean. Right?”

Kylo laughs and nods. “Yes, your snooping on my resume was correct.” He pauses, as if deciding on how to answer. “Reasons, I guess. Personal.”

He says it with a sense of finality. “So, music then?”

“Yeah. Played the viola when I was a kid—not a very lucrative talent unless you score a seat in a touring orchestra. Singing is fun though. I write a lot of it, too. Not that I didn’t try—for the orchestra seat, that is. Didn’t make the cut. Met Helge and Avaah after that and started the band.”

Armitage sighs, ruminating over gravy-soaked fries and the manic-pixie-dream-boy across the table.

“So what else?”

“What else, what?”

“You said my mother’s job was one of the reasons you weren’t going to call back. What are the others?”

Armitage buys himself time by shoveling more food into his mouth and taking a long, slow sip of his shake. The sensation of hot-then-cold in his belly makes him shiver. “I was getting tested,” he grumbles under his breath.

“Huh?”

“I was getting _tested_ ,” he hisses across the table. “I realized how utterly stupid it was to fuck someone I’d just met—whose real name, as it turned out, I didn’t even know.” He clears his throat and looks off to the side. “I was waiting for my results from Planned Parenthood. Trying to figure out how to tell you if it wasn’t good news—deciding how angry at you I’d be if that was the case.”

Kylo makes a relieved face, “So you’re not pregnant, then?”

Armitage scowls, “They don’t just do pregnancy things.”

“I know, I’m sorry. You just looked so worried. We _did_ use a condom.”

“Yes, well, I was very drunk later on and I couldn’t remember things one-hundred-percent clearly. And it doesn’t hurt to check.” He shovels more food into his mouth and chokes down a too-large bite of cheese. “I’m clean, by the way, if you cared.”

“So am I.”

“You’ve been tested recently, then?”

“Yeah, I go regularly. I haven’t been with anyone in a long time.” He shrugs. “Haven’t been with anyone since you, either. If that matters, I guess.” Kylo blushes this time and Armitage feels an oddly smug twinge over it. The sex-god image he’d cooked up in his head was rapidly crumbling.

“Mummy’s celebrity status not helping your love life then?”

“No, actually. Everyone who swipes right on Ben Solo is terrified of having the government snooping on them once they meet me—if they put two and two together. The ones who don’t realize who I am are disappointed that I don’t meet their expectations.”

“How so?”

“I’m not super enthusiastic about topping, mostly. It’s fine and I like it—I like making who I’m with feel good—but it gets boring when that’s all they ever want... when they don’t really care what you want.” He sighs, face screwed up in disappointment for a moment.  “And people just sort of assume I’m going to have some kind of drugs on me? Like, did you want a date or did you want a high?” Kylo rolls his eyes dramatically. “I guess I’m a bad musician. I’ve got the rock n’ roll part down but I’m still workin’ on the sex and I’ve got no interest in the drugs.”

Armitage laughs, “So, um—It’s just men then?” He thinks back to the easy way Kylo had seduced and flirted with everyone who’d approached him at the party, wondering both then and now if it was for show.

“No, I’m… cool with whatever genitals you’ve got? And gender is...” he makes a face and wiggles his hands in the air. “Is that a problem?”

“No, just curious. You seem to get along with everyone quite well. I thought it might just be an image thing.” Armitage chewed his lip, feeling like he’d just put his foot directly in his mouth.

“What about you then?”

Armitage presses his lips together and doesn’t answer. “These are surprisingly good.”

“Right?” Kylo smiles, genuine and bright and completely allowing the abrupt change in topic. He turns serious again, “Are you—you know—seeing anyone else?”

“No.” Armitage makes an effort to wipe his face and mouth with napkin and folds it under the edge of his plate, fork set down on top. “I’m not really interested in _seeing_ anyone. Not at the moment, at least. I’m too focused on work.” Kylo makes a confused face. “I thought, though, that we might—if you’re agreeable—come to… to some… mutually beneficial arrangement.”

“On one condition.” Armitage raises a brow and watches Kylo spoon rapidly melting shake from the tin cup in front of him into his mouth. “You know my story and I don’t know anything about you.” He scrapes at the cup and licks the spoon. “Except, you know, you’ve got a nice dick and you work corporate.”

Armitage snorts. “You didn’t search for me as well, then? I’m the only belatedly cautious one here?”

“No, I did—you just make it awful hard to track you down. All I could find was a LinkedIn.”

“And what did that tell you?”

“Armitage Hux, CBDO of _First Order Global_. You’ve got your page locked, and I kinda didn’t want you to know I was snooping so I didn’t want to log in.”

“And?”

“Well, I gather you make a lot of money and crush a lot of dreams. Mom would _love_ you.” A mischievous look flashes across his face. He reaches across the table and pulls Armitage’s empty plate towards himself to stack their dishes and place their silverware and napkins neatly on top. “So what’s your story, Mr. Business?”

“Well, I don’t make as much money as the snobby title would have you believe. Eff-Oh is a start-up at its core. We’re fairly established at our home base but the _Global_ part is a bit shaky.”

“You live in the city, right? Gotta be making some money to do that.”

“Why are you so worried about money? Looking for a loan?”

“No. I make enough. And I’ve got a nice trust fund if I’m ever in trouble. Money’s just… I don’t know, I’ve learned it’s a pretty good gauge for how honest a person is. Inverse relationship.”

“Hm.” Armitage eyes him thoughtfully and moves his straw from his empty glass to his overflow cup. “I make enough to have purchased an apartment rather than rent. I’m comfortable but not extravagant. Does that tell you what you need?”

Kylo considers him for a moment and then nods. “So what exactly does a Chief Business Development Officer do?”

“I crush dreams. Destroy planets. Rend still-beating hearts from chests and display the skulls of my defeated enemies in my curio cabinet.” Kylo blanches for a moment and then grins. Armitage laughs softly. “The title really just applies to the American division—I haven’t got as much power as you’d think, honestly. They even make me clock in and out so that the home office can keep tabs on productivity.” He tips the cup back to drink the last bit of shake and cringes as the too-cold liquid touches the roof of his mouth. “Eff-Oh does a lot of things but mostly, we handle a lot of other businesses—buy them out or get them out of trouble then consolidate. Small companies, properties, research schemes… we’ve got our hands in everything. I sort of do exactly what the title implies.”

“Sounds mind-numbing.”

“It’s actually a bit thrilling sometimes.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Kylo smiles radiantly up at the waiter when they come to collect the dishes and asks Armitage if he’d like anything else. With an answer in the negative Kylo accepts the check and pockets it faster than Armitage can object. “So what’s the rest of your story—I’m born, I lived…”

“Ah. Well, I grew up outside of London.”

“Really? Couldn’t tell. Thought for sure you were from Texas.”

Armitage shakes his head. “You’re awful, do you know that? I think people ditch you for reasons far less complex than you’re suspecting.” Kylo crosses his arms and looks at him expectantly. “Grew up with strict, cold nannies and a distant father—stepmother who thought of me more like a fancy handbag than a child, although I can’t quite blame her since I am the result of my father’s inability to keep his pants on. Military-esque boarding school as soon as I was old enough. Then Oxford.” He shrugged, “Right into _First Order_ from there. Company wasn’t much when I first started out. I’m pretty sure that’s why I was allowed to cherry-pick who I brought with me when we made the decision to move here.”

“So your whole crew is from back over the pond?”

Armitage grimaces at the slang and nods. “I knew Phasma at Oxford.”

“And the others? Umami, Dishcloth, and… Thighmaster?”

Armitage can’t help but laugh. “Unamo, Dopheld, and Thanisson? Yes, we met them later, when we were both with the company.”

“What do you do for fun, then? Aside from allow yourself to be lured into compromising positions by dashing strangers?”

Armitage rolls his eyes. “To be completely honest, I don’t know anymore. We go out, Phasma and I, with the others. But I don’t think I’ve really had any actual fun since university.”

Kylo looks thoughtful and soft. “We’ll have to change that.”

Armitage raises a brow high and regards Kylo for a moment. “Careful, Kayak, don’t get sentimental.”

Kylo brings his foot up onto the edge of his seat and pulls some folded bills out of the ribbing on his sock. “You sure you don’t want anything else?” Armitage gives him a purposeful look. “Other than something that’ll get us kicked out of here. I do like this place.” They laugh. “C’mon then, the after-movie crowd’ll be in soon—it’s about to get _real_ loud. Do you wanna,” he gets that earnest, hopeful look again. Armitage’s knees feel weak and he’s glad he’s still sitting. “Find someplace quiet? We could talk some more.”

Armitage shakes his head, “I don’t want to talk anymore.”

Kylo looks mildly defeated, “Oh.”

“Not about myself, at least.” He slips his phone from his pocket and glances at the time. “I think your laundry is probably washed _and_ dried by now.”

“Huh, I guess.” He slips out of the booth and extends his hand, “You comin’?”

Armitage allows himself to be tugged out of his seat and toward the register. Kylo pays their bill and leads him back across the street. Those ugly plastic totes are lined up near the counter that the attendant is stationed behind when they open the laundromat door, bell jingling to announce their presence. Kylo passes several more bills across, exhausting the supply from the fold in his sock. The attendant hands over Kylo’s bottle of detergent and a box of dryer sheets, the scent of which wafts across the space between them and fills Armitage’s head with what was meant to be the comforting aroma of Spring and linen. Kylo carefully arranges his things alongside the neatly folded stack of laundry inside one of the bags and hefts it up over his shoulder.

“Let me bring this stuff out to the van—then maybe the county park? There’s tables and stuff down by the water. If you want. We could go someplace else if—”

Armitage bends to lift one of the bags himself and swears he can actually hear the discs in his back explode under the strain of it. “What the _fuck_.”

Kylo sucks his lips in in amusement. “Why don’t you take the dry bag?”

“The what—you mean these are all _wet_ —why the hell—“

Kylo starts to head for the door and Armitage quickly snatches up the other bag, significantly less heavy even though it looks fuller.

“Why’ve you— _ugh—_ why are these not dry?”

Kylo sets his bag down on the ground and pops open the back doors of his van. “Do you see the size of me? Do you know how difficult it is to find clothes that actually fit?” He picks the bag back up and slides it across the floor of the van. Armitage can make out the vague shapes of equipment and some kind of shelves bolted into the walls in the semi-darkness inside. “You’re a tall drink of water—I bet you have to get the hems let down in all of your suits.”

“And what does wet laundry have to do with any of it?”

“Things shrink in the dryer. I hang it all up at home, let it air-dry.” He takes the bag from Armitage’s hands and slides that one in as well. “You sure you went to Oxford? Or is it just not as much of a smarty-pants school as we’ve been led to believe?” Armitage simmers with outrage for a moment while Kylo grins over his shoulder and goes back inside. He comes back with the last of the bags and Armitage is sitting on the ledge off the back of the van. He slides the bag in and uses a bungee to secure them against the wall before sitting down as well. “About your idea, the, um, the mutually beneficial arrangement?”

“You can say you’re not interested. I made it a bit weird, haven’t I? Calling you out. I won’t be offended if you really don’t want to see me again. I’ve enjoyed tonight, though. I wouldn’t mind just… friends. I guess.” Armitage can feel his anxiousness vibrating against the back of his teeth. His legs tense as if getting ready to run. He feels like that may be the best option at this point. Just run to his car and peel out of the parking lot. Head straight for the Turnpike and hold his breath until he was back through the Lincoln Tunnel and safely on the Manhattan side.

“You have to stop trying to put words in my mouth.”

_I’d rather put something else in your mouth_. Armitage couldn’t help but look at his lips, wide and soft and moving far more than they needed to every time he spoke.

“I like you. And if you’re willing to come across the river every once in a while,” he licks his lips. The lights in the laundromat go dark. “I think we could have some fun.”

“I thought your one condition was knowing my story.”

“Well, I added another.” He leans back into the dim light inside the van, propped up on the heels of his palms. “Bridge and tunnel travel is expensive,” he purrs, throwing Armitage’s own complaint back at him.

Armitage gapes for a moment. Kylo settles his weight onto one hand and pushes the fingers of the other through his hair. It flows in glossy waves over his fingers and falls back into place. It’s maddening.

“Auberg—“

Armitage surges forward, shutting him up before he can get anything else out. Kylo tastes savory and sweet all at once. His lips are plusher than the alcohol-addled memories Armitage has been calling up in the shower. When he touches it, the skin of Kylo’s cheek is velvety and warm. Armitage pushes forward and Kylo loses his balance with a little _harrumph_ of surprise. Armitage squeaks, elbow hitting the floor of the van hard in his efforts not to fall forward completely.

“Aroma—“ Kylo whines, high and quiet, when Armitage bites at his jaw. “Admiral—“

“General.”

“What?” Kylo asks, breathless. “My people, at Eff-Oh. They call me General. It’s meant to be a joke.”

“Noted.” Kylo grabs the lapels of his waistcoat and pulls him back in. “How about we forget the park.”

“Already forgotten.”

“My place?”

“Your place.”

“Fuck—you kiss—“ Kylo squirms, his hands move in a confused way. He shifts and pulls Armitage to cover himself more fully. “Selfish. You kiss selfish.”

“I what?” Armitage is breathless. A breeze picks up and whips through the cavern of the back of the van, making wires and cords sway. He glances up and looks around, struck for a moment at how ill-advised winding up in the back of a van with someone who was virtually a stranger in an unfamiliar town. The walls are lined with equipment—amps and other things held in place with wide tension straps—and metal racks and cabinets that seem to be bolted in place. Everything not readily visible seems to have a fluorescent, glowy label affixed to its place—plugs, picks, strings, screws… _Definitely a teacher_.

“Never mind.” Kylo cranes his neck upward and silences Armitage’s protest with more kissing. “Okay—okay—“

“Trying to talk yourself into it or out of it?”

“Do you care if my housemate is home?”

“Are they joining us?”

“No.”

“Then no, I don’t mind.”

“Okay—“ Kylo kisses him again and pulls away. His face contorts as if he wants to say something more. He looks young and unsure in the dim light from the bulb overhead. “Can you—can you follow?”

“Uh huh,” Armitage dips his head to lick at the space behind Kylo’s ear. “How far?”

“Five minutes. Not even.” Kylo rattles off a street name that has little relevance to Armitage and grips a hank of his hair to pull him away. “I don’t wanna—I don’t—Not in the van, that’s so fucking _dumb_.”

Armitage laughs and crawls backward on his knees, searching blindly with a foot for the ground and tugging Kylo with him to steal just a bit more contact. He feels breathless and energized and a bit wild, the whiplash from enthusiasm to worry and back again making him dizzy. “Just drive slow. There’s too many damned dead ends in this town.”

“I won’t lose you.” Kylo grins and makes a show of smoothing the front of Armitage’s waistcoat before shutting the doors of the van. He has a bounce in his step when he walks toward the driver’s side and climbs in.

Armitage follows closely from the more business-y end of town into a quaint residential section. After several twists and turns that he’s sure he’ll need a map and a Sherpa in order to navigate if he ever wants to leave, Kylo’s van pulls into a long driveway beside a house with cottage-like details and a more recent looking addition plopped on top. There aren’t any other cars in the drive, he hesitates.

Kylo jumps out of the van and waves dramatically before calling out, “Poe’s in the garage! You need a sticker for overnight on the street! Pull in!”

Armitage sighs, slightly annoyed at the assumption that he’s staying, and eases into the driveway, trying to pull in close enough that no part of his car hangs into the sidewalk.

“Take that?” Kylo indicates the _dry bag_ from before. He’s already got the other two slung over his shoulders and he’s pushing the door closed with his rear. Armitage _harrumphs_ at the request and shoulders the bag anyway, following Kylo to the front door. Either it opens by sheer force of will or it’s been left open, the latter of which seems ill-advised and alarming.

Kylo calls out to whom Armitage assumes is his housemate as they move though the front room. Armitage can make out the shadowy shapes of a desk and a table, there seems to be a densely packed bookcase on one wall. They go through a set of glass doors and into a spacious living area. The light is dim and there’s something playing at low volume on the television. Armitage can’t see anyone but he can hear murmuring.

“Poe?” A curly head pops up over the top of the couch and a hand waves at them. The murmuring continues for a moment before the person turns and casts a radiant smile on them. “I’ve got company. We’ll be upstairs.”

“Got it. I’ll get the laundry.”

“Night, Poe.”

“Night—yeah, sorry Jess. It was just Ben.”

Armitage follows Kylo through the house and up the stairs. Kylo chucks his baggage into the darkness of one room and points out the other doors as he does. “Bathroom—Poe’s—I’m here.”

He grins and he’s a bit more like what Armitage remembered as he seizes his hand and pulls him down the hall. It looks as if Kylo’s taken the master suite for himself, though the décor is much more sober than what Armitage had imagined. There are books everywhere. Printed sheet music is pinned up on one wall, scribbled over and erased and smudged. The walls are a cozy coffee color underneath it all. Armitage hardly notices the door clicking closed behind him.

“Oh!” He bounces as he hits the bed and Kylo is crawling over him, pawing at his buttons. “Right to the point, aren’t you?”

“Mhm.”

“Hedging any bets this time?”

Kylo looks up from where he’s got his face buried in the opening of Armitage’s shirt and waistcoat, tongue wet against his sternum. “Nope.” He squirms a hand down between them and palms Armitage though his jeans. “Not this time.” He sits up, straddling the thinner man’s waist and making him feel like he might be crushed between Kylo’s thighs. His sweater gets yanked up and off and he’s sitting there looking like some kind of Adonis in his vest and leggings. He opens his mouth in a pleased expression when Armitage grabs at his ass, kneading it. “Not gonna cum on my damn shirt this time either.”

Armitage grins. “Get off.”

“That’s the aim.”

“ _Pfft_ —get off of me, Keratin. I want it.”

“Mm,” Kylo swings his leg over and drops back heavily onto the bed, making the whole mattress shake and bounce. He laughs and gropes himself, “Want it?”

“For someone who prefers bottoming you’ve got a definite fixation.” Kylo laughs and lets himself be manhandled, wrists caught in Armitage’s hands and placed above his head. He lets himself be kissed and bitten and licked until he’s breathing heavy and his knees are coming up, legs splayed. “I want _that ass_.”

“This ass?”

“No the other one. Turn _over_.”

Kylo squirms out of his vest, muscles rippling as he moves. Armitage takes in what he was too distracted to notice the first time—the pattern of dark ink and pearly scars over his torso in some kind of weirdly organic twisting in line with his underlying structures. He’s got more strange little symbols like the exploding sun etched into his fingers, hidden here and there amongst the larger lines. Kylo blushes as he turns, apparently bashful under Armitage’s direct scrutiny. He pulls a pillow toward himself, hugging it under him and looks almost coquettishly over his shoulder, waiting.

Armitage runs his hands up from the waistband of Kylo’s leggings, pressing his fingers hard into the rises and dips of muscle. There’s more tattooing, more scaring, organic ropes and inky ones intertwining and all flowing across his back from a vaguely singular point on his right shoulder. The back of his right arm features an archaic looking broadsword, the deadly sharp tip of it oriented toward the apex of the larger design. Kylo groans, pleased at the attention, and Armitage moves back down.

He hooks his fingers into the waistband, nails scraping against wispy tendrils of ink disappearing underneath. The leggings are soft, just as he thought they’d be. The fabric is fluffy and fleecy on the inside and it’s warm from Kylo’s skin. Armitage wants to wrap himself up in them.

He’s prepared to tease Kylo about having ridiculous underwear on—something out of a _Cosmic Boys_ clip with bright colors and no covering over the ass that his flesh bulges out from tantalizingly. He’s pleasantly surprised at the very basic black briefs. They look new, which he likes—either Kylo has a sense of care for himself belied by the extensive and curious scarring or he’s made an effort knowing Armitage might see them at some point. He pulls them down with more care than the leggings, enjoying the way the elastic presses into Kylo’s ass as he moves them and settles them around his knees with the leggings.

“Lemmie take my shoes off,” comes a muffled request from the face buried in the pillows when Armitage kneads and spreads and bites his lip at the soft hairs that trail between.

“I just need your ass—not your feet.”

“What if I’ve got a fetish?”

“We didn’t negotiate it. Shoes stay on.”

Kylo snorts, an amused sound, and turns his head again to watch Armitage through one eye over his shoulder while he makes his way down from the nape of Kylo’s neck to the small of his back with sharp nips and kisses that alternately make him gasp and sigh.

“I like this. Slow. It’s nice.”

“You didn’t like it before?”

“No, I liked that too.” Armitage scoots back, walking on his knees toward the edge of the mattress. He arranges Kylo’s legs around him, leaving the leggings and underwear bunched around his knees just because he apparently can. He runs his thumbs in hard strokes into Kylo’s cleft, pressing down near the tight muscle of his hole and backing off just as his thighs tighten in response. He spits, as elegantly as one can actually spit, and smears is across the pucker. Kylo shivers and squirms. “There’s stuff in the drawer.”

Armitage shakes his head and leans down. Kylo squints and watches him warily, yelps when Armitage sinks his teeth into one globe of his ass. “I don’t need it.”

Kylo twists his body, effectively smacking Armitage in the face with his hip as he moves. “I might be persuaded to go without a condom if we keep this up—if it’s just us—but you are _not_ fucking me without lube. Ever. Spit does not count. There’s some of that, ” He jabs a finger in the air accusingly as he speaks. “Get the Gun Oil.”

Armitage covers his mouth, holding back a laugh. “I don’t want to fuck you.”

Kylo’s face scrunches in annoyance and confusion. His mouth works over words that he can’t quite get out. Armitage presses his hip, guiding him back onto his stomach.

“I want to use my mouth on you.”

“Blow jobs are boring.”

“Are you being willfully obstinate?” Kylo purses his lips. “Haven’t you ever had your ass eaten before?”

“No.”

“Never?”

“Uh-uh.”

“You—I—“ Armitage finds himself at a complete loss. He narrows his eyes, scrutinizing the man stretched out in front of him. Where was the cock-sure tart he’d met at that stupid party? “Can I?”

Kylo seems to think about it for a moment. “Don’t you need a thing… one of those—“ He puts a hand up in front of his mouth. “Will a rubber work? You could cut it open.”

Armitage frowns. “I’d prefer not, but if you—“

“I… no, I—You haven’t got anything, right?” Armitage nods. “Nothing scary either? Hep any of that?”

“No.”

“I don’t either.”

“Cloverfield, if you’d prefer I didn’t—“

“I want it—I want you to.”

“Are you sure? I don’t have to. We could just,” Armitage shrugs, “fuck. I’ve no objections.”

“No, do it.” Kylo’s eyes sparkle with something hungry. “Please.”

“Tell me to stop if you want me to, yes?” Kylo nods and shifts his legs. He seems to brace himself. He squirms and gasps and twists away at the first swipe of the tongue. His skin is warm and soft and velvety against Armitage’s face, hair tickling his cheeks and nose before it wet and sticking to Kylo’s skin.

Kylo draws his knees up beneath him awkwardly and Armitage follows, sucking a red mark into pale flesh. He reaches around and catches Kylo’s hand as he slips it under himself.

“Don’t.” Kylo whines, distressed. “Wait.”

His legs are trembling. He draws his knees closer, pitching his backside into the air. Armitage makes soft, wet sounds against him, enjoying the reaction they seem to illicit. He pulls away, distracted, chin and lips shiny and wet. “What do I call you?”

Kylo makes a high-pitched, inquisitive sound.

“Is it Kylo or Ben?”

“You,” he pants and tenses his thighs and peers at Armitage from under his arm, “you’re asking me _now_?”

“Yes.” Armitage leans in again, sucking at the skin of his perineum and trailing upward.

“Ky—Ky _—loow_. I—I—“

He reaches forward and strokes him in a quick, firm hand. Kylo comes trembling and gasping, legs crumpling beneath him.

“Just—I—“ Kylo’s hands flutter and finally cover his face, bright red and sweating. “A minute, gimmie a minute. Just... just a minute," he repeated. He looked dazed, like he wasn't entirely sure what had just happened.

"Take all of the minutes you want." Armitage scoots further down on the bed and wrenches Kylo's boots from his feet and rolls his clothes the rest of the way off. He drops the pile of it off the edge of the bed and stretches out beside him, mindful of the sticky spot he'd just squirmed away from. Armitage laughs under his breath when Kylo swipes a big hand over his face and blinks at the ceiling. "Are you alright?"

"Can we do that again?" Armitage laughs in earnest and sits up to struggle out of the rumpled twist of his shirt and waistcoat, forgotten during his hungry endeavor. "Not right now. Maybe next time. I think I'll just be a human shaped pile of goo if you do that again right now."

"As you wish." A slow smile creeps over his face and he settles on an elbow. He scratches his blunt nails across a pierced nipple and draws out an overworked sigh. "You liked it then?"

Kylo nods. He seems bolstered, face slightly less flushed and chest rising and falling more regularly. He turns and grabs hold of Armitage's belt, brow screwed up on concentration. "Let me do you."

Armitage moves his hands away, bringing a big, calloused thumb to his lips and slipping it between. "I'm fine."

"What, did you come in your pants?" Kylo watches Armitage nibble and suck at his fingers, transfixed.

"Maker, no. I'm not a teenager."

"Then let me get you off." He chews his bottom lip and Armitage thinks again of those pseudo-romantic _Cosmic Boys_ clips. The pretty bottom is always chewing his lip and sighing and acquiescing to the flavor-of-the-week top. "I'll... if you give me a few minutes, I'll fuck you if you want."

Armitage shakes his head and kicks his shoes off, only remembering Kylo's housemate on the floor below when he hears the solid clunk of them on the hardwood. "Can't we just... cuddle?  Or something? I didn't think this would be a tit-for-tat kind of arrangement."

A wicked look flashes over Kylo's face for a moment. "Take your pants off at least. I just had your face in my ass, don't make me be naked all by myself."

Armitage snorts and slides over to the edge of the bed to take his jeans off. He spots a lone sock on the floor and uses it to wipe at the wet spot on the comforter before settling back down. "Can I keep my shorts?"

"For now." Armitage settles in closer and finds himself almost immediately wrapped in a cage of limbs. "So do you get off on that or you're just not in the mood?"

"I'm very much in the mood. I wouldn't say I get off on giving rim jobs, but I do enjoy it. I like to have something to focus on. The immediate gratification of response is always nice."

Kylo makes a thoughtful sound and shifts down to tuck his head under Armitage's chin. Armitage blows an errant curl out of his face and adjusts the crane of his neck more comfortably.

"You've really never had a partner do that for you before?"

"No."

"That's a crime."

Kylo snorts. "So should I keep making names up or is Armitage okay?"

"I prefer Hux, actually."

“Is that a military school thing?"

"I suppose. I just got very used to it. And you were right the first time... it's a very stuffy name, isn't it?"

"Alright then, Hux."

"Mm. Kylo."

They drift. It's not exactly a late night, but the bed is warm and they're close and comfortable. Armitage's phone chirps somewhere on the floor in the pile of his clothes. Reluctantly, he peels himself away from Kylo to retrieve it.

"Something wrong?"

"No, it's just Phasma. Wants to know if I'm free for a movie." He settles beside Kylo again, deciding how to answer. _Can't, busy having a less anonymous roll with that insufferable brute_? "How do you tell someone you're occupied with sex without telling them?"

Kylo raises a brow. "You don't." He makes a move to take the phone from Armitage, who holds it out of reach. "Put the selfie thing on."

"Why?"

"Just do it."

Armitage gives him a suspicious look and holds the phone so that both of their faces are in the frame. They're both tousled, pillow marks visible on Kylo's cheek. Armitage moves his thumb to snap the picture and Kylo reaches between them, giving him a hard stroke through his shorts and sucking Armitage's earlobe between his teeth. The resulting picture is blurry. Their faces are a smear of amusement and shocked pleasure.

"Send that."

"Absolutely not."

Kylo shrugs, "You didn't want to tell, so show. She set you up that night, didn't she? Brought you along with the intention of getting you laid?"

"Not exactly, but I suppose it ended up that way."

Kylo laughs, "So send it. Let her know she was successful." He laughs harder, the sound pushing humid breath against Armitage's throat when he sends the photo and receives a smiley face and a thumbs up nearly immediately in reply. "You're gonna stay the night, right?"

"Mm. You know something? You're different."

"I bet you say that to all the pretty girls."

Armitage snorts and lets himself be kissed. "I meant different from when we met."

"I thought we established that was just makeup?"

"No, not that." Armitage flicks the shell of his ear hard and Kylo hisses. "Your attitude. Personality. Whatever. I think I like this version better."

"Well, I've got fewer people to impress this time."

"I suppose that's true."

"Hux?" He makes a questioning sound. "Go to sleep."

He wakes at some point when there is watery light filtering in through the window, painfully hard and back sticky with sweat. He shifts, trying to peel himself out of bed to sneak off to the bathroom to take care of it before Kylo wakes. His limbs are heavy and fumbling. Kylo stirs behind him, trapping him with strong arms and making a sleepy sound of protest. Armitage winces at the arm across his waist, pressing the fabric of his shorts against his sensitive head. He knows he's probably already got a wet spot on his front and doesn't particularly fancy the idea of making it worse.

"Let me," comes a deep, sleep-heavy response just behind his ear. Armitage doesn't resist when Kylo shifts the waistband away, settling in under his balls. His big hand works lazily over the shaft for a few minutes before he drags his thumb across the slit. Armitage comes with a strangled sound and he swears he sees stars. He's still drifting down in the afterglow when he whines, bereft of warmth by Kylo's movement away from him. He gasps, oversensitive, when Kylo returns and his fingers swipe away the drip of cum still clinging to his head and gently wipes at the splattered mess on his belly with something soft but not quite as soft as the lips against his.

Kylo hums, approving of his own work. "Go back to sleep."

Armitage doesn't have to be told twice. He drifts back into a sleepy haze of nothingness with Kylo's weight making the other side of the mattress dip.

When he wakes in earnest, the sun is streaming warm through the window and the curtains are thrown open. The space beside him still has a bit of a dent in the bedding but when he smooths his hand across it, it's cool. Mildly confused, Armitage reaches for his phone, resting on the bedside table. There are a few messages from Phasma teasing that he's being terribly irresponsible and asking what the children will think.

_He's even prettier without the eyeliner, nice catch. Will you stop obsessing now?_

_Secret identity confirmed. Fucked a national treasure. Do I get a Secret Service detail now?_

_For real?_

_Yes._

_Deal breaker?_

_It's... strange. But no, I don't think so. He's very... normal?_

_You spent the night._

_Yes._

_Breakfast in bed? Have you met the First Lady yet? Does she approve?_

_Go fuck yourself, Phas <3_

Armitage searches around for a moment and finds his shirt and waistcoat a rumpled mess on the floor. If Kylo's housemate is around, he's no intention of looking like he's going to a walk of shame at ten-thirty on a Sunday morning.

He rights his shorts, slightly mortified that he's still hanging out of them, and shimmies back into his jeans. He scans the room and spots a dresser, partially obscured by the stacks of books on top of it and leaning against it on either side. He searches through the drawers for a moment until he finds a tee shirt that looks like it might fit and pulls it over his head. It still swims on him around the shoulders and it's far too long. He does his best to tuck it into his jeans and borrows a pair of socks for good measure, his own having decided to run off somewhere in the night.

Getting the impression that he's alone on the upper floor, Armitage takes advantage of the moment to get a lay of the land.

The books appear very mixed in content. He couldn't decipher the music pinned to the walls if he tried and the lyrics occasionally scribbly below the measures are hardly legible. There are old photographs hung here and there that seem like they must be family. He notices a sword with a fancy tassel mounted over the bed below a folded flag in one of those triangular frames.

In the closet and dressers, Kylo's wardrobe is mostly blacks with the occasional greys and earth tones. There are a few pairs of wildly patterned leggings like the ones he'd been wearing. Armitage is lifting a well-worn hoodie out of a drawer when a noise echoes from down the hall. He drops the garment and shoves the drawer shut hastily.

Armitage pads out into the hall, trying to remember which door is the bathroom. The first is open, clearly the housemate’s realm. He tries the next and finds a small third bedroom occupied by a heavy bag and a set of weights, a closed cabinet shoved into one corner. Finally, relieved, he finds the bathroom.

Armitage wanders down the stairs. The house is remarkably quiet for all of the wood flooring and mostly minimalist decor. He can hear Kylo's voice coming from the front room and moves toward it.

"Hey," Armitage is confronted by someone behind him who places their hand firmly on their shoulder. "Ben's got a student in there. They've been workin' on that paper for a month, I don’t think it would be great to disturb them."

Armitage turns and glares. "Who has students on a Sunday morning?" He shrugs the hand off.

"It's the only day Rey's free. Full time student, nearly full time job. Not easy for college kids nowadays. Come with me, there’s bagels in the kitchen. I'll poach ya' an egg to go with."

Armitage follows, slightly annoyed. "You don't have to do that."

"Suit yourself, I'm having one. Ben brought cream cheese and stuff too, if you prefer."

"When the kriffing hell did he have time for that?"

"It's Armitage, right? Like the actor?" He nods and the housemate continues. "Ben's been up for hours. Wakes up at like the crack of dawn every morning. You’d think out of the two of us that he was the military guy. Goes for a run or hits the weights, then does whatever errands. He’s like… infuriatingly efficient.”

“Poe?” The other man nods in confirmation and disappears behind the fridge door and comes out with an armful of eggs and cheese. He goes about his business, setting a pot of water on the stove to boil while he preps everything else. He pushes the brown paper bag, bulging with still slightly warm bagels toward Armitage on the island when he takes a seat. “How, um… How do you…”

“Know Ben?” Poe looks to him for confirmation before he cracks and egg and drops it into the water. “You jealous or something? I don’t think the guy who ignores his phone for a month gets to be jealous.”

Armitage’s cheeks flare red. “I am not.”

“Relax, Romeo. I’ve known Ben since he was in diapers. Our moms were really close.”

“Were?” He imagines some kind of political dissonance, it’s the only thing he can think of now when he thinks of Ben Solo and who he’s come from.

“Ah yeah, my parents aren’t around anymore. So, were.”

Embarrassed, Armitage blanches. “Sorry.”

“No sweat. You sure you don’t want one?” He gestures at the glossy white globe of the egg that’s now jiggling on a slotted spoon in his hands. Armitage declines and Poe drops it onto half of a bagel on top of a slice of cheese. He drops a second egg to cook.

Armitage relents and takes a seed-covered bagel from the bag. He waves away offers of cream cheese and butter in favor of just ripping right into the fluffy insides of the thing. “Should I… should I… know? Anything? You know, particular about Kuh-Ben?”

“What are you getting at?” Poe squints at him and plops the second egg down. He covers them with the other half of the bagel and lets the broken yolks soak in before he tries to take a bite.

“Well, I know, obviously, about who his mother is.”

“And?”

“Is there anything I should be careful about? He mentioned trouble—with previous partners—because of it.”

Poe shrugs. “Just don’t make it fuckin’ weird, man. He’s not his mom.”

The pair of them sit in mildly uncomfortable silence for another hour while the Sunday morning news programs hum in the background. Armitage wants to leave and doesn’t know how. He’s relieved when he hears the front door open and close and Kylo’s approaching footsteps.

Kylo smiles, bottom lip caught between his teeth. “Hey, that’s mine.”

“Mine was a bit rumpled. Do you mind?”

“Nope.” Kylo slides onto the stool beside him and starts to slather cream cheese onto a bagel. He gets up when he’s done and returns with a container of thin slices of green tomato that he arranges on top. They smell briny and they _snap_ when Kylo bites into the concoction. “Getting along with Poe?”

“Yes.” Poe raises a brow and retreats across the space into the living room with his cup of coffee. “You were gone.”

“I’m sorry. Should I have left a note or something?” Kylo makes a haughty face and licks cream cheese from the corner of his mouth. He’s transformed again—hair pulled back into a neat twist and a barely-noticeable plastic retainer in place of the piercing through his brow.

“You could have woken me. I could have left before your student arrived.”

Kylo laughs, “I tried! You were out cold. You looked so comfortable, I felt kind of guilty.”

“Well,” Armitage blushes, much less intensely than before. “I had a good night.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Armitage sips his coffee, loaded with cream, while Kylo eats. A warm hand comes to rest on his thigh and they sit in comfortable silence. Finished, Armitage makes his way back up the stairs to retrieve the rest of his clothes and put his shoes on. Kylo doesn’t follow, seemingly comfortable with the way Armitage moves through his space.

He walks Armitage out the front door and to the end of the driveway. They lean against the car, Kylo’s hands wrapped around a mug and their hips touching. They watch people cross the street at the corner, cars passing.

“So, if you follow this street all the way to the end and then make a left, you’ll hit forty-six. You know how to get back home from there?” Armitage nods as Kylo speaks to the air in front of his nose. “Will you call me?”

“Yes.”

“You sure?”

“You have to come to my place next time, get your shirt back. Socks too, I’m afraid. I couldn’t find mine.”

Kylo grins into his mug and bumps Armitage with his hip. “Alright, Anchorage.”

**Author's Note:**

> Questions? Comments? Was is atrocious?
> 
> [star wars nonsense over here](http://avaahren.tumblr.com)


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